


Passage

by Dark_and_night



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: One Shot, Other, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_and_night/pseuds/Dark_and_night
Summary: Brahms listens to your lessons from behind the wall.
Relationships: Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Brahms Heelshire/You
Kudos: 114





	Passage

Brahms watched you quietly from the wall, as you read to the doll version of himself. He rested his forehead on the wall, breathing out softly. You were smiling softly, your voice getting a bit hoarse. It was nearing the end of the lesson, and your throat was getting dry. Brahms wished that it could go on longer, but lunch was coming up soon and he could tell you were getting hungry by how frequently you checked the clock. He was a little peckish himself, so he didn’t mind.  


Finally you stood, setting his doll-self onto the table and stretching out your back, groaning softly to yourself. You kept stretching until your back finally popped, and with a satisfied grin you picked up doll-Brahms once again.  


“I think I’ll have lemon tea with honey after that monologue.” You said to the doll, making your way to the kitchen. Brahms quickly shadowed you through the wall, wondering what you would make today.  


You sat his doll on one of the kitchen chairs, pulling out a sack of potatoes and pulling out three of them, beginning to wash them. Brahms took the opportunity while you were busy and making noise in the kitchen to go to his room. He pulled yesterday’s leftovers from the fridge in his secret room, putting them in the microwave, careful to stop the microwave before it beeped.  


Brahms was used to sneaking around, yes, but he was still getting used to the idea that he had to remain completely silent while you were in the house. He couldn’t even bathe for fear of you hearing the water running.  


He had been so adamant against his parents leaving. Brahms hadn’t had a nanny since he was legally alive. He hated the idea. Brahms was the kind of person who didn’t like having to change his habits for someone else.  


That changed when he saw you. At first, it was just because he thought that you were cute. He hadn’t had a crush since he was eight, and he liked seeing someone he found so attractive every day.  


As you continued living in the same house together, he found more things about you that he liked, not just your face. It was turning out that he was beginning to dread the day his parents would come back and you would leave.  


Brahms sat on his cot, eating his microwaved leftovers. He was curious about what you had made for lunch, but he knew that whatever it was he would eat it for dinner after you had gone to sleep. When his meal was done he headed back upstairs, peeking in on what you were doing.  


You were still cooking, apparently you had bitten off more than you could chew with whatever dish you had decided to make. You were in the middle of telling doll-Brahms a story from your childhood. Brahms hated that he had missed the first half, but he figured it would give him time to do something in another part of the house.  


When you were reading his lessons earlier, there was a certain phrase from a poem that had stuck with him. And an idea had started to form in his mind.  


Brahms silently slid into the library, careful not to make a sound as he selected the book you had read from earlier. He flipped through the pages, finding exactly what page you had been on.  


Creeping back in the wall, Brahms went up to your bedroom, ripping out a single passage when he was certain you were out of earshot. Brahms placed the piece of paper on your pillow, nervous and excited. He couldn’t wait to see your face, this passage was perfect.  


“Let me tell you how much I need you. Let me touch you, and protect you.” Brahms knew he couldn’t speak to you, not as things were. But he could steal someone else’s words and give them to you until he could speak for himself.


End file.
